


any other words

by aceds



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (?), Alternate - Freeform, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, F/F, Post-Break Up, Songfic, hopeful ending!!!! right?, i apologize. this is mostly hilda being nostalgic and sad.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceds/pseuds/aceds
Summary: She imagines, in an ideal world, that she’d cross the threshold and toss her arms over Marianne’s shoulders, smiling wide with aHello love!Marianne would put her long, beautiful hands over hers and on a good day, a normal day, she’d send them both tumbling onto the bed, giggling and grinning and loving loving loving. The reality is that she has no idea where to put herself, in this now unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar girl, so she just nods carefully.(Hilda gives back her apartment key.)
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	any other words

**Author's Note:**

> yet another short, sad fic huh? based around yoasobi's tabun or probably. [give it a listen](https://youtu.be/8iuLXODzL04), its wonderful and hopefully sets the mood for this!

Hilda has made it a point not to touch Marianne too often. She considers herself a master at knowing when Marianne's uncomfortable, of knowing where the line is. When they were teenagers, Mari used to flinch when Hilda put a hand on her shoulder playfully or reached for her hand. Something inside of Hilda  _ hurt _ , when she saw how Mari’s fingers would tighten and close up, how her eyes wouldn’t meet Hilda’s. Marianne never asked, but Hilda learned anyway. You don’t need to touch Marianne to love her. When Hilda uses her years-old, well-loved key to enter their formerly shared apartment, she doesn’t reach over to pull at Marianne’s shoulder, lying on the bed. She looks less like she’s asleep and more like she’s lying down and staring out the window curiously. 

Years from now, when asked, Hilda will say about their relationship that  _ yes, I loved her, yes, I would’ve done anything for her, no, we couldn’t make it work.  _ It’s an oxymoron, and far too little. It’s too little for the tornado in her heart, the whirlwind of thoughts she would have about the two of them.  _ We were best friends, I knew her like the back of my hand, she meant the world to me, and then we were lovers, and then we were girlfriends, and then we were every young adult romance book that Ashe had ever read, and then we were in love in love in love in love and then we weren’t.  _

She finds herself, inexplicably, standing at the doorway, her hand resting there and tightening as Marianne pulls her head up softly, delicately. The room is small. They had pooled a lot of their money together to make it to college, not to have a giant apartment with six roommates. Each other had been enough. This had been Marianne and Hilda’s place, their apartment, their home. It’s only been a month, but now it’s just Marianne’s place, her apartment, her home. 

The bed only has one pillow and blanket, for Marianne. On the shelf above it, Hilda recalls the angle that her schoolbooks would be on, the stuffed toys that she’d give to Marianne. Most of it is gone now. (She sees one lying there, a gold pendant.) Marianne’s moved the desk where the table used to be. The chair is where Hilda used to sit, used to be where she’d lay down bottles of water and her phone, but is now where a cardigan lies, draped over it lazily. The table is free from Hilda’s constant mess and is replaced by the neat stacks of Marianne’s books, her things, the things that Hilda must know by heart now. Her beanbag hasn’t been touched at all, and the TV doesn’t look like it’s been used much either. On the desk, Hilda sees the imprints of post-it notes that she’d paste over each other constantly, notes like times, appointments, classes, dates. She blinks and the imprints disappear. Hilda recognizes where shadows from the ceiling fan will hit the floor, the curtains that she’d picked out herself. She recognizes grooves in the floor, fluffy slippers peeking out from underneath the bed, DVDs and movies that they either rewatched again and again or never laid a finger on, gaps in the closet where  _ her  _ clothes used to be, and her head is abuzz with  _ How can I leave this? How is it possible that I should walk away from this place forever?  _

Marianne looks up and meets her eyes, and there’s a part of the two of them that still lives in a year ago, that lights up at the sight of each other. Hilda waves brightly, and Marianne’s eyes widen at the sight of her. Her wave back is reluctant, worried. She’s never made Marianne scared before. She used to make her worried, like when she got that huge fever right after midterms, but never  _ scared.  _

Hilda Goneril is wearing pants (white), a little shirt (off-white) that reads,  _ Let’s Party!  _ with a little flamingo underneath, and a giant jacket (grey) over her shoulders. She is very particular about this, because this might be the last time she sees Marianne for a very, very long time. Why she feels the need to dress up on an occasion like this is something she’ll never understand. Hilda shuffles from foot to foot, and Marianne makes a soft sound, a greeting. Hilda freezes. 

Marianne realizes her mistake and lifts a hand to her mouth, only to lower it again, sitting up. “I’m sorry,” she says hurriedly. “Force of… force of habit. It won’t happen again.”  _ Literally _ , Hilda thinks for a miserable moment before shutting down the thought. It’s no use. Both of them heard Marianne’s audible greeting of  _ Welcome home _ . 

She imagines, in an ideal world, that she’d cross the threshold and toss her arms over Marianne’s shoulders, smiling wide with a  _ Hello love!  _ Marianne would put her long, beautiful hands over hers and on a good day, a normal day, she’d send them both tumbling onto the bed, giggling and grinning and loving loving loving. The reality is that she has no idea where to put herself, in this now unfamiliar room, with an unfamiliar girl, so she just nods carefully. 

“That’s fine,”

“Why are you —” 

They stop suddenly. Something about this is —  _ wrong.  _ Like they’ve fallen out of sync. Their wavelengths don’t match anymore. It’s wrong. It’s not right, the balance of the world has been tipped because when Hilda looks at Marianne she can’t tell what the other is thinking. 

She does recognize that Marianne gulps softly. “Why are you here?” She repeats, and Hilda nods again. Get this over with, is the one thought that plays like a record in her brain. 

Her voice is loud and she’s sure that it will crack if she opens it to speak. Instead, she lifts a finger and dangles her key on it. Her body moves without warning, because her eyes are about to brim with tears. She tosses the keys into the air, across the room, harsher than she means to. Marianne is started by the sudden movement, and guilt washes through her like a harsh river current. 

Marianne reaches out too late, and the keys flop uselessly to the ground beside the bed. “I’m sorry, Mari,” she forces out –  _ Mari is okay, right? A lot of people call her that.  _ “I didn’t mean to…” 

“That’s fine,” she wants to wrap herself in Marianne’s arms, bury herself in the other girl’s chest, and weep for hours. She’ll do that later, on Claude’s shoulder. She’ll also reply to Sylvain about a party invite, but end up leaving early wiping tears from her eyes furiously while Sylvain wraps an arm around her and talks lightly, comfortably. The week after that, Dorothea will somehow sense that she isn’t well and will drop over to her new, barely used apartment to see Hilda and finally get her out of her post-breakup slump. 

But for now, she watches Marianne lower her head to reach the keys, wishing that she could run her hands through them like she always did. Everything goes in slow motion. Her fingers flex on the doorway. Marianne’s hand closes over the key and her eyes lift to meet Hilda’s. (It’s not the last time. Hilda can stop it from being fhe last time.) 

“I’ll see you, Mari?” She hopes her voice sounds alright. 

“Of course,” and as always, Marianne’s smile is brighter than the sun. Hilda tries her hardest to grin the widest she can, the grin that she’d greet Marianne with junior year in highschool. Her hands leave the doorway. Her shoes lift from the carpet. The room grows farther away from her, and she finds that she’s starting to be okay with that. 

Tomorrow — Sylvain’s party. She’ll wear the dress that Dorothea picked for her. It’ll be the first time she wears it. It’s bright, cheerful, and she might wear her hair down to go with it. It’s getting cold out too, so she has a few flashy scarves laying around that she can use. She’s not willing to finally make her new apartment feel like home yet. She’ll do that the day after. 

_ claude?  _ she texts her friend on the way out of the complex.  _ gave in the key. can i come over for a quick sec?  _

**Author's Note:**

> me and my friend potato both wrote fics based around tabun! hers made me stop and stare at my wall for a few seconds. if you like haikyuu and bokuaka, [check it out!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25635559) thank you for reading!


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